I've Always Hated Cats

Since George has not seen fit to nuke the Peg, I have decided that I'm going to keep posting until the Blog Gestapo come and carry me away.

My whole life I have always hated cats. I'm not sure why exactly, but everyone in my family hated cats, and I didn't want to be the black sheep. I viewed cats as having three goals in life: 1. To scratch up all the furniture possible. 2. To make many people's eyes turn red and water. 3. To make the house smell like cats.

Now I have come to the realization that all that is true, but only for "inside cats". Inside cats perform the above three activities with aloofness and overwhelming pride. Indoor cats do no one any good and have not the slightest whiff of affection for their owners.

Outdoor cats are another species entirely. They resemble indoor cats in the same way a fireplace fire resembles a forest fire.

Six months ago my daughter convinced me, extremely begrudgingly, to get her a cat. I required that it not come in the house, but was still convinced I was going to hate this animal. "Lucy" became a member of our family, and my attitude toward her has completely changed.

"Cat" is much too docile a word for Lucy. "Killing Machine" would be more apropos. She has singlepawedly destroyed every mouse, chipmunk, moth, roach, and rat within a three house radius of our home. No rodent stands a chance against Lu. You don't have to give her much attention at all, and she is still happy as long as she has disemboweled some pesky pest in the last 24 hours. I am amazed to see her hunt--it's National Geographic come to suburban Birmingham.

She has become my favorite pet, and I apologize to outdoor cats everywhere.